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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842963">The Second Rule</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe'>keelywolfe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spicyhoney Standalones [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Child Abandonment, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Violence, baby bones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:46:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew the first rule of Underfell; 'Kill or Be Killed'. </p><p>The second rule, 'Don't Get Involved', was less well known but Grillby always followed it scrupulously, anyway. </p><p>Until today.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spicyhoney Standalones [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Second Rule</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>The first rule of Underfell was kill or be killed. Everyone had that shit either beaten into them by the time they could toddle or they were too dead for it to matter much. </p><p>The second rule wasn’t talked about as much, but just because no one wore a shirt advertising it didn’t mean that a Monster didn’t have to pick up on it pretty fucking quickly. Don’t get involved, that was the rule, and those that didn’t learn it, well, whatever kin they had probably needed to invest in a new broom and a dustpan.</p><p>Don’t get involved. That was the word, simple and concise and Grillby was usually pretty fucking good at it. He kept to it his entire life, grunging out a living in New Home and once he had the G saved up to get out of that garbage scow, he headed off to Snowdin. Same shitty clientele and it was always miserably fucking cold, but at least you could breathe without coughing back out a mouthful of polluted air and dust. Still a shithole even if it were a slightly upgraded shithole, not exactly the kind of place he’d dreamed about as kid. </p><p>Didn’t matter. Reality was no place for dreams and Grillby was keeping it real. He ran his place, kept an eye on the tabs, and kept to himself. That was <i>his</i> rule and he kept to it scrupulously. </p><p>Until today. </p><p>His first mistake was looking at all. What he should’ve done was kept going forward, head back to the bar with his groceries and started his regular morning prep work. His thoughts were already slicing potatoes to soak for fries, polishing drinking glasses, cleaning up any leftover splinters from the furniture that got wrecked in last night’s fight. Same as any other day, but he still kept his hearing hot, listening for any asshole who thought his XP looked extra tempting this fine fucking cold morning. It was automatic after years of living in new Home. Half of Snowdin would take out anyone directly responsible for losing them their only bar and the other half would take bets on it, but that wouldn’t do Grillby much good if he were dead. That was the only reason he heard it, coming from the alleyway between the Bun Bakery and the hotel.</p><p>“leave my brother alone!” Childishly high and filled with fear coupled to fury. From the coarse laughter that followed, whoever they were talking to wasn’t much impressed. </p><p>Grillby didn’t do more than glance down the alley, catching sight of three of the Bun family standing in a semi-circle, looming close to the alley wall and that was where his gaze stalled. The Monsters they surrounded were huddled close to the ground and from the striped shirts it was a couple of kids, one of them curling protectively over the other where they were lying crumpled on the ground. Next to them were the remains of a couple of cinnamon bunnies, mashed to crumbs like they’d been stomped on. </p><p>Out here in the sticks, a striped shirt wasn’t sacred so much as it was a warning that someone bigger and angrier might come looking for a little revenge, but neither of those filthy scrags looked like they had a single G to their name, much less a parent or older brother. A kid had as much XP as anyone and if their kin weren’t gonna look after them, then the world would take care of them in its own way. That was the fucking rule, kill or be killed, but they were <i>kids</i>, fuck, a couple of kids…</p><p>Grillby sighed and set his bag down at the entrance to the alley in a dry place out of the slush of snow, ramping up the internal furnace of his soul until his flames glowed deep purple. “Hey,” he called, and the Buns whipped around to face him, scarred faces twisting in surprise and irritation.</p><p>“What do you want, Grillby,” said the tallest of the three. Jono was a regular patron of his, big and not too dumb, all things considered. His cousins were a couple of dim bulbs, suited for drinking and XP fodder when they finally drank too much one night and staggered off to their deaths, but for now they were very much alive, standing as hulking statues behind Jono.</p><p>Grillby only shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. Didn’t need ‘em to literally fire off an attack.  “Just seeing what’s going on.” He tipped his head towards the kids, who were cringing against the alley wall, their gazes flicking warily between them. “Takes three of you to handle some single digit XP?”</p><p>“Piss off,” Jono growled. “Ain’t no business of yours.”</p><p>“You so sure about that?” Grillby asked softly. The words were coolly said, as much as a fire Monster could manage in a place called Snowdin. “You've got an awfully big tab at my place for you to be thinking you can tell me what to do.”</p><p>That was a decent tweak to the balls and Jono faltered. They both damn well knew if Grillby called in his tab, he wouldn’t be able to pay it and the guard had no sympathy for those who couldn’t pay their debts. They wouldn’t give two shits if Grillby handled the problem himself and added Jono’s dust to the jarred collection sitting at the back of the bar as a reminder that debts were made to be paid.</p><p>Jono was a little too pissed to give in that easily. Fury burned in his eyes, twisted his face into an ugly sneer. He swung around and snarled, “These little brats stole from our place!” </p><p>That anger gave birth to violence. He aimed a kick at the bigger kid and the smaller one lunged in, crying out as it connected with his ribs instead of his brother’s prone body. A hasty Check showed his HP was getting dangerously low, kid probably already took a hit or two before Grillby showed up and damned if he’d ever seen anything like that before. Any sibling loyalty was pretty few and far between these days, hell, Jono was more likely to dust his brother himself than to keep anyone else from smacking him around. Grillby’s own little brother was snuffed years ago back in New Home when Grillby was a kid himself, fuck, those bright orange flames reduced to ash because he’d—</p><p>Stole from their place, right, the Bakery. The smashed cinnamon bunnies told the tale; little thieves trying to sneak off with shit that wasn’t theirs…exactly as Grillby had at their ages, only they’d gotten caught. Stupid kids, hungry kids, ah, fuck.</p><p>Memory blurred around reality and Grillby sighed inwardly as Jono reached down to grab up the smaller kid, probably to finish this off and before he could Grillby said hastily, “Let me take care of the problem. Call it a favor.”</p><p>At the word ‘favor’, Jono’s long ears perked up. He paused and gave Grillby a calculating, appraising look, weighing revenge against resources. “And if I do? What else do I get out of it?” </p><p>Say what you would about Jono, he was always on the lookout for a deal. Grillby considered it, ran a few mental numbers. “I’ll owe you a favor and I’ll knock fifteen percent off your tab.”</p><p>“Twenty,” he countered and Grillby kept back a bitter smile. He probably would’ve gone up to twenty-five, fucking idiot that he was, don’t get involved, that was all he had to do, and instead he’d waded right into the shit. Twenty was still a hard pill to swallow and that on top of owing this shitbag a favor. </p><p>“Deal,” Grillby said. Maybe he’d get lucky and Jono would get himself dusted before he could call his favor in. </p><p>Jono nodded curtly, gesturing at his cousins to follow him. “They’re yours.” He chuckled raucously as they slunk away back to the bakery, calling back, “Have fun.” </p><p>Grillby ignored that and crouched down to get a good look at what he was working with here. Huh. He hadn’t seen a skeleton Monster in fucking years, not since he was a kid himself. These two looked like they’d seen some rough times. The bigger kid had a nasty crack running through one of his sockets, obviously an old injury, the jagged edges looked healed over. The smaller kid was sporting plenty of fresh bruises from Jono’s little love taps and had a couple cracks of his own. Both of them were dressed in rags and filthy. This close Grillby could smell the stink of unwashed bodies and clothes even over the reek of the nearby garbage cans. </p><p>Tears were running from the younger kid’s sockets, the droplets of bright, unusual crimson gathering at his chin like a bouquet. Didn’t stop him from stubbornly standing in front of his brother despite the bigger kid trying feebly to push him back. A check of that kid made Grillby frown, how the fuck was the big kid even alive with a max of one HP? Well, now, this was getting kinda interesting.</p><p>But it wasn’t his business, never had been. He could still leave them here. Let them get back to scrounging out a living, plenty of overflowing trash cans in this alley for them to dig through. Might find a bag a chisps with some crumbs still in it or even the remains of a half-eaten burger from his place. He’d bought them some time and not cheaply, either. They’d either pull through or eventually someone would put them out of their misery. He could walk out of here with rule number two still tucked in his back pocket, a little bent, but unbroken. </p><p>Grillby looked at the filthy, wretched little urchins in the gutter and sighed aloud. “C’mon, kids, let’s go.”</p><p>He reached for them and the smaller skeleton bared some impressively sharp chompers, snapping at Grillby’s outstretched hand like one of the local pups. “I won’t let you hurt my brother!” </p><p>Yeah, that was enough of that. Grillby set a burning finger in the middle of the kid’s sternum and shoved, sending him sprawling back into the slush. “Gonna have to get a little bigger if you’re looking to play bodyguard and you ain’t gonna get the chance if you don’t come with me.”</p><p>“why, so you can get some cheap xp?” the bigger kid rasped out. He crawled painfully over to his brother and tried to help him to his feet. Neither of ‘em were making much progress but they were sure damn well trying. </p><p>“Unnamed Angel save me from today’s saints,” Grillby muttered under his breath, then louder, “Actually, I was gonna feed you, you ungrateful fucking brats. You can either come with me or stay here, but if you’re staying the only thing that’s happening is someone gets to shovel you off the sidewalk tomorrow. I’m betting there’s no one else out there to sprinkle your dust. Stay or go, it’s your call. Hurry up and make it.”</p><p>The brothers turned to look at each other and something about that stare, the unspoken communication, made Grillby’s magic perk up and crawl unpleasantly up his back. Weird fucking kids and he almost pulled the offer back, almost turned and walked right back out of the alley and the kids could have his abandoned groceries while he got the hell out of dodge. But before he could take so much as a step, both kids turned back to him, two pairs of crimson eye lights meeting his own gaze as the bigger kid announced, “we’ll go with you. for now.”</p><p>“Thank fuck,” Grillby muttered. Time was wasting and he wanted outta here before any other Buns came by looking for a deal. He stood and then got to watch with sour amusement as the little kid tried to help his brother to his feet. They got about halfway there then they both lost their balance, falling into a clattering heap back into the dirty snow. “Fuck’s sake, hold still.”</p><p>The bigger kid was shivering, that low HP of his probably made the cold even more miserable for him than it was for Grillby. He stripped off his jacket, hissing at the chill, wrapped both kids in it and scooped them up, telling himself that at least this way he didn’t have to touch their grimy bones. They wriggled in his arms and he almost dropped the little brats, but somehow they managed to settle, both of them peeking out from the depths of the coat.</p><p>“Comfortable?” Grillby asked dryly. They said nothing and he shrugged mentally, walking back out of the alley and snagging his groceries on the way. He didn’t linger, heading back to the bar with long, fast strides. Wherever these kids came from, they were his problem for a little while at least, and he’d feel better when they were safely inside. “You got names?”</p><p>“Yes.” One word in unison and not a cent more. It should have been irritating but Grillby found he was fighting the urge to laugh. That was the kind of shit Blaze would have pulled back in the day, when he and Grillby were living on the street…but Grillby snuffed that thought brutally. </p><p>Little brats, eh, he’d get some names out of them eventually. He carried them back to his place, already thinking of how he was gonna get the little brats in a bathtub without giving himself water rash. Rustle up something for them to wear that was better than the rags barely covering their bones and get some food for them, hm, burgers might be a little much on achingly empty souls eager for something to convert to magic, but soup might work or maybe some pasta. He’d figure out something. </p><p>Don’t get involved, that was the rule, and he'd always stuck to it. But if he was going to break the fucking thing, Grillby was gonna smash it good. </p><p>Fuck it. He'd never given a good shit about rules, anyway. </p><p>-finis</p>
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